


Dark Chocolate for the soul

by SwirlsOfBlueJay



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Abuse, Dark, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-01
Updated: 2010-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:15:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwirlsOfBlueJay/pseuds/SwirlsOfBlueJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles featuring Dark!Wilson</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dark chocolate for the soul

The first time I ever see Wilson he’s meticulously breaking off perfect rectangles of dark chocolate; as the then stranger brings it to his lips I like the way it mirrors the beautiful darkness of his eyes. On later occasions when I see Wilson eat the rich, bittersweet, and dark sweet, I reflect that it also mirrors his soul.

  
Most of the time people only notice the chocolate and rarely notice the darkness that lies within Wilson. His effortless manipulations leave his victims completely unaware they’ve been used; pliant bending to his will.   

  
There are the more obvious fruits of his work; Cameron’s crying for me, Cuddy’s lying (for me, to me, on the stand, whatever), pushing patients, and charming his colleagues. But then there’s the more sinister that no one but me ever sees. I accept his manipulations of me and in turn he allows me this insight without running away.

  
He changes people; more so with his wives. He takes the needy, and serves their every need, all the while twisting them, so they will always long for him. He coats them in a mask and makes them all seem stronger, more confident, and more alive to the world; even as they crack and break inside. And they forever stay this way, in perpetual disguise; hiding an inner darkness behind chocolate smiles, just like Wilson.

  
I look around at a sea of chocolate smiles, and hide a slab next to my vicodin.

  



	2. Our Secret

He owns me; it’s our secret. He goes off with girlfriends, boyfriends, and wives, and leaves me here waiting for him. Giving me his touch only when I’m deemed worthy; he insists I stay alone. I ask permission to be with Cameron, if the ‘date’ goes that way. I just want a good fuck.

  
“Seriously, you want Cameron?”   

  
“I want you.”

  
“You’ll owe me.” He sighs and walks into my bedroom. I savour every touch, every caress, and every kiss; who knows when next time will be. He acts as though he’s granting me a huge favour; which is true sometimes but not today. He can see my desperation. I know he’s just afraid that if I break, I’ll break away from him.

  
Afterwards he lazes on my couch and mentions anti-biotic condoms that we both know I won’t use. It’s our secret and we even keep it from ourselves.

  



	3. The price

  
Everything has its price. Especially with Wilson, he says it makes sense; I’m a crippled, drug-addicted asshole and he’s a handsome, charming wonder-boy oncologist. Then there’s our sex-life; every act has its own special price. There are lesser prices for just a caress, touch, or massage and greater prices for blow-jobs or hand-jobs. We don’t fuck much; the price is too high. But we did fuck yesterday, and it’s time to pay-up.

  
A large part of me wants to tell him to fuck-off, but my longing always leaves me coming back, and my disobedience always makes it worse. So I sit in my road-runner boxers, swallowing another vicodin and waiting.

  
Wilson walks up to me with a wooden-rod-cane and I grip the chairs’ arm in anticipation. He gives me a vicious grin to match the cane viciously slicing the air. I tell him to get on with it, he tells me to be patient. I scream. The lashing against my right thigh takes me by surprise even though I knew it was coming.  

  
“Don’t scream; you don’t deserve the release.” He orders. I nod, clutching my thigh, already feeling nauseas. He waits a couple of minutes before prying my fingers off, so he can carry on.

  
Lash. Fucking pain. Fingers squeeze. Eyes water. I muffle my screams into pained grunts. A slither of vomit slips into my mouth, I swallow everything down, readying myself for something I’m never ready for.

  
Lash. I bite down on my coppery-tasting tongue, but the scream still escapes.

  
“You’re useless; can’t even keep your mouth shut.” He spits out. I refuse to let him pry my fingers off my damaged muscle again.

  
“We can do this now, or we can start again from the beginning later.” Wilson states firmly. I assent, and he pulls my hands away.

  
Lash. My throw-up splatters over the floor. I see him raise the cane again.

  
“No.” I rasp, shaking my head.

  
“Just one left.” He says soothingly, rubbing my back, I despise the part of myself that desperately leans into his touch.

  
“Ok, last one now.” He warns, I don’t say anything.

  
Lash. I curl up into the chair, rubbing my leg hurriedly in an effort to calm the angered muscle. Wilson puts the cane away and cleans up my vomit.

  
Wilson comforts me lovingly as I wallow in pain and despite everything I love this; because it’s priceless.

  



	4. Expectations

The marriage is still new enough that she expects the kind, caring, compassionate husband. Who works hard to help his patients and works hard to please everyone. So working late is a lie that slides off the tongue as naturally as summer sliding into autumn. House’s kiss tastes of Chinese food and whiskey and lying never matters.

  
She’ll believe the lie until I’m tired of it; then I let her see the truth one fallen leaf at a time.

  
I’ll stay with House for the springtime. Then I’ll find another woman to lie to, and start cycling the seasons again.

 


	5. Ice

As I do it, I know it is wrong. But all the nights filled with pained whispers and restless whimpers tell me it is right. Maybe it makes me as bad as him; I honestly don’t care.

  
He struggles fruitlessly against me, shivering painfully as the cold seeps into his bones. He looks up at me from the tub of freezing water, and tries to appeal to his usually kindly oncologist, tries to get me to let him out. I just smile.

  
I ask him why I should grant him the mercy he never bothered to grant his own son.

  
 


	6. Leather

I watch House’s strong arms as he straps my wrists together and then loops another belt through; attaching my bindings to the bed-post. I tug gently on the soft-firm leather; the tug of pressure and tingling of pain fills me with the familiar exhilaration of knowing what’s to come.

  
House considers me confidently. I’m the prey; we’ve done this enough that he’s sure he has the power; making this the perfect time for me to surprise him. I feel his predatory stare as sexy leather-clad legs stalk around me. He holds my jaw trailing his hand down my neck, sliding his index finger over my Adam’s apple.

  
“You’re mine”. He growls, using black leather-belts to play with his prey.

  
I wait. Then I scream;

  
“Ow, fuck House.” He recoils instantly; his expression a mix of horror, self-loathing, and hurt. I drink in the look feeling  
blissful. 

  
He hates that he needs this, hates that he sometimes hurts me. I love the agonised look on his face. I love seeing what I can make him feel. He hates that he needs to have power over me.

  
He can have all the power he wants; I’ll always be the one in control.

 

  
 

  



	7. Pillow

“I trust you’ll take good care of the hospital while I’m gone doctor Wilson.” Cuddy said sternly.

  
“Of course.” I reply with charming smile no.6.

  
“And you won’t let House ruin the hospital with his crazy schemes.”

  
“Lisa, you deserve a break, stop worrying; everything will be fine.” I say reassuringly.

\----

“I can’t believe you convinced the Mistress of darkness to let you run the hospital, I’ve got to start pretending to be respectable.”

  
“I just made her think it was her idea. You can thank me later.” I leer, House grins.

  
“Let the evil plotting begin.”

  
“I’ve some ideas. What about a pillow fight?” I suggest.

  
“That’s a sissy idea.” House scoffs, but only until he sees my work.

\----

The massive hospital wide pillow-fight is in full swing, with pillow innards already littering the hallways.

 

“You even managed to get the grumpy stuck-up quacks to join in.” House says with admiration.

  
“It’s all for the kids.” I say, barely keeping a straight face.

  
I run House through the halls on a gurney, he whacks everyone we pass; we’re gone before the thought of hitting back enters their minds.

\----

  
“House!” Cuddy shouts as a layer of pillow-dust greets her return.

 

  
 


	8. Mirror

I know no-one will ever accept the real me, so I lie, create a mirror-image all-smiles and caring, and let them accept the lie. That is until I met House; House knows no-one will accept him, so he exaggerates the truth, lays it out bare and rejects people before they reject him. But he accepted me; he realised we’re mirror images of each other; perfectly reversed.

  
I do bad things, people don’t realise my intent; that is their punishment for accepting my lie.

  
House does what he thinks is right, they call him crazy, but let him do it anyway.

  
 


	9. Cigarette Burns

As frustrating as being House’s carer is there are pro’s. Now for example; he’s standing naked in front of me while I smoke.  


  
It’s not a sexual thing; he’s standing bare and vulnerable in front of me because he’s mine and I want him that way.

  
I trail my fingers over his now prominent ribs and over the lines of circular cigarette scars.

  
Exhilaration fills me as I add another burn to the collection; delighting in his squirming I stub out my cigarette upon soft flesh.

  
“Hungry.” He asks.

  
“It’s only been 43 hours; you don’t deserve another meal already. If I’d stopped giving you everything you wanted sooner maybe Amber would still be alive.” I say, ignoring his pleading eyes and lighting another cigarette.

  



	10. Flames

People always say they’d die for their loved ones. That doesn’t mean much to James Wilson. He knows it’s the loved ones who have the real hard time. Doing something that changes you irrevocably for a loved one; that’s something.

Killing for a loved one is like giving an organ for Wilson; it’s heroic but also expected.

  
Wilson walks away from the bloodied corpses; then throws in his lighter, watching the place blaze. Flames swallow all hints of his heroism.

  
There’s a reason they never found the shooter. There’s also a reason they never found the guy who hired him.

  
 


	11. Love

I look down at House; bound and now bloodied. He’s lain out vulnerable in front of me with a look of pained anguish on his face.

Trills of ecstasy run through me with every plea pouring from his mouth. I continue to thrust roughly into him.

  
 “DON’T. NO. DON’T. SHIT. Shit. SHIT. Don’t do this. Don’t just... I’ll do anything. Please. Don’t.”   

  
The strained pain engulfing his voice spurs me on and I thrust with increased violence.

  
“NO. Please. I DON’T want this. Too much. Please stop. Stop. Stop.”

 

Oh wow, the utter desperation in his voice combined with his frantic writhing beneath me makes me giddy with excitement.

  
“Please Jimmy. Don’t you care? PLEASE. This Fucking Hurts. Please. Please don’t don’t.”

  
House’s voice breaks over the words. His face contorting across a spectrum of emotions; bewildered panic, agony, resigned hurt, hopeful pleading, bitterness and raw fear. I’m in heaven.

 

 

“Oh God. PLEASE. STOP. Stop this. Please Jimmy Please.” 

  
I didn’t even know his voice could crack that way. I pause.

  
“You remember the safe-word right?”

  
The array of emotions sitting there instantly slips off his face to be replaced by a smirk.

  
“Too convincing for you Jimmy?”

  
“Not at all; it’s perfect; you’re perfect.” I say placing a soft kiss on his neck.

  
“Jeez, only you would worry about consent in the middle of a rape fantasy. If I’d forgotten the safe-word I would’ve told you I’d forgotten it.”

  
“Only you wouldn’t worry about consent. You’re sure you’re ok with this?”

  
“I want all of you Jimmy; every fucked up little piece.”

  
“I love you too.” I say quietly.

  
And when I come with the sound of House’s pleas ringing in my ears I know I’ve never meant those words anywhere near as much as I mean them now.

  
 


	12. Porridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a sequel to my drabble cigarette burns; <http://community.livejournal.com/dark_wilson/33039.html#cutid2>  

I sit him at the table for dinner. I decide to let him have some food, instead of just forcing him to watch me eat mine; after all it’s been 60 hours since he’s eaten anything. I put a bowl of cold porridge and a glass of water in front of him. I keep the cupboards filled with food he’s always hated. I also have locks on all the cupboards doors and the fridge, the keys for which are in plain view but there’s no way he’d be able to open them.

  
He stares longingly at the porridge he would usually hate. He knows better than to eat before being given permission. I wait a few mintues, then I tell him to go ahead, and he ferociously begins spooning it into his mouth. By the time he’s taken six spoonfuls, four of them have fallen on either him or the floor or table; the brain damage has left his co-ordination in the crapper. He gives me a pleading look. I take pity on him and spoon-feed him the rest of it. He takes every mouthful with rapid eagerness.


	13. Flirt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does Wilson flirt with all the ladies?

  
I make her laugh, and laugh with her. I give her a little flirtatious smile as she touches my arm. She moves closer and my smile grows. Everyone thinks my whole focus is on her; even the man standing in the corner, with a self-preserving scowl on his face and oceans of hurt in his eyes. I’m actually focused on him; this is all for his benefit.

I lie in bed with him that night and tell him I’ll probably fuck that nurse. I won’t but that’s irrelevant. He asks me again why he’s not good enough.

I tell him.  

  


Title: Cold.

Summary: Wilson is sick.

  
I’m making chamomile, honey and peppermint tea. The reason that I’m making this ridiculous concoction is because Wilson refuses to drink anything else when he’s sick and Cuddy would kill me if I let her star oncologist die of dehydration.

“Want tea Now.”

I don’t know how he puts so much anger into a raspy whisper. Wilson’s a real grouch when he’s got a cold. I think he saves up all his nastiness from the rest of the year and lets it out like one massive snot-fart. I take him his tea.

“Good. Now fuck off.”

“No.”

“I hate you.”  

  



	14. Need

I go on about his desperate need to be needed, but when it comes to the precipice- the vital moments, he’s always sure to let me know I need him more. I’ve always pretended emotion doesn’t matter. I pretend that it doesn’t get to me, but we both know it’s a lie. Words idly brush off my desperation like worthless flakes of dandruff.

“You are as God made you.”

Jokes are good; I know he’s just mocking me, I know everything is fine, but his refusal to confirm with solid words- that we’re ok, hurts. And he knows it hurts.

  



	15. Roulette

It’s Russian roulette, every one of these moments. Wilson knows there’s a chance he’ll break me, he enjoys playing the game, enjoys denying me the re-assurance I usually deny needing- enjoys denying me when I’m desperate enough to ask for it. But as I sit on his couch we know the gun is down to its final chamber. The five blanks are long gone and we both know the bullet will destroy me. I helplessly (stupidly) hand him the gun and I fill with pained dread as I wonder whether he’ll still fire.

“Nothing’s changed, you have to trust that.”

I fill with relief as he puts the gun back down, I make sure my tone is sceptical and completely void of the gratitude I’m feeling when I reply; “Okay.”

  



End file.
